


What Happens in Vegas...

by bluebloodnewt



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Charls is a slut, Charls is an indie pop star, F/F, Genderbending, Las Vegas, Modern Era, erik is a blackjack dealer, fem!Charles, fem!Erik - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-29 03:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5113823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebloodnewt/pseuds/bluebloodnewt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Charlotte Xavier's band gets contracted for a resident performance job at Sebastian Shaw's swanky Las Vegas casino, it doesn't take long for the young telepath to notice something fishy about Shaw's employees---with one tall blackjack dealer in particular piquing her interest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress, a project between projects if you will, but I couldn't let the idea bounce around in my head any longer after a weekend excursion to Vegas. This is my first genderbent fic, beta'd by a user who hasn't gotten their username yet. Thanks Zo. Not rated at the moment, I'll have to change that when the inevitable smut comes along. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

For the record, Sebastian Shaw had been trying to get Charlotte Xavier and her band to play in his posh Las Vegas casino for nearly their entire career. What had started as a tiny East Coast alternative band had slowly grown, and their young vocalists, the Xavier sisters had always had different ideas on what Shaw should do with this particular offer. Charls, as her sister and her friends called her, thought it was a splendid idea. Raven, the younger Xavier thought it ought to go where the sun don’t shine. It had been over two years since their manager had been approached by Shaw and his beautiful blonde assistant in their tiny hometown of Westchester, back when they’d toured alongside other better-know-than-us-but-still-obscure bands around the tristate area. 

It was odd to Charls that someone with such a reputation would be asking them to take up residence in the Sin City Strip, when he could just as easily be asking pretty much any artist or group in the world. She hadn’t been able to read any ill intent, but her sister Raven’s gut feeling had been so hard to overcome that she was absolutely immovable, even by the will of her older sister which she had always been so susceptible to. Now that they’d made a name, were growing steadily in popularity, and there were no Xaviers left in New York to keep them pinned to the East, it was finally possible to wear Raven down enough to take up Shaw’s offer. 

And that’s how one particularly powerful pretty brunette telepath ended up pacing the smoke scented carpets of one of the tallest, brightest attractions on the strip, legality be damned. It had been easy to convince the suited men strewn about the floor that identification was either unneeded, (or in some cases of the more morally inclined bouncers, had already been presented and verified,) so with a drink in hand and a thin, expensive menthol cigarette tucked behind one ear, Charls had set to inspecting the room. 

Their burly manager/muscle Logan was frightfully underdressed, gnawing on a cigar and tucked into a nickel slot decorated with women clad in less than even Charls’ strappy cut out dress, which despite it’s length managed to cover very little. (Their shy pianist, who was assumedly wherever Raven was by habit, had said it bore a striking resemblance to the Slave Leia costume he saw so frequently worn by the ‘sluttier’ attendees of his science fiction conventions, if only a bit more modern and only one color. Charls had slapped Hank on the shoulder firmer than strictly necessary, and told him that a bit of nerdy chic appeal never hurt anyone, and he should shove his opinions up his arse where they could keep his head company.) As far as any other band members were concerned, it seemed that the only other that was still inside as opposed to out exploring or wherever Raven had gone off to, only Sean ‘Banshee’ Cassidy, their drummer, was in the building, and was obviously striking out with another tight-dressed girl up against the bar. 

Though the _Genomes_ had played in big cities before, (mostly little venues hidden in the innumerable streets and lights of New York City or crooning in the used-to-be-speakeasies-turned-theme-clubs in Chicago,) Las Vegas was unlike anything Charls had experienced before. There was so much thought and so little restraint all stacked into endless buildings—floors upon floors of human emotion in its rawest form—that it was almost hard for the telepath to restrain herself to just this one level, one expansive room. With all the noise of the main casino hall, even the music playing on the PA that lingerie clad dancers on platforms were somehow able to keep beat to was impossible to discern. The the whirring, chiming machines and the pollution of voices was almost as loud as the rapport of thought, but it was clear after scanning the tables that there was a recurring theme, at least among the employees who shuffled cards in suit and tie and dealt drinks in short skirts and netted stockings. Suddenly the reason why they had been approached by a casino tycoon from thousands of miles away became clear. 

_Every single employee of Shaw’s casino was a mutant._ It seemed obvious that it was no coincidence that for some reason that Charls couldn’t quite figure yet, he’d look to add an entertainment group made up also of _only mutants_. The blonde he’d had with him at the first confrontation, Miss Frost, who Charls now saw escorting several suited individuals into a curtained back room from very far away, had been suspiciously quiet to Charls’ sensitive talent when they had first met. She wouldn’t be surprised if she was a telepath as well, a strong one, and having a few more years under her belt, was able to fool the younger Charls into not noticing that particular intent from the beginning. 

Charls wondered vaguely if it had anything to do with sex, as so much in this city did. She’d heard of people with very particular tastes, who were capable and willing to pay good money for a show of certain _talents_. Though mutants were not exactly mainstream, it was not uncommon to find them in the underground, and if you were not prone to keep your mutation carefully hidden, the underground was often the only place to be. Still, Charls had never seen so many of her own kind gathered in one place, and she could only imagine that having particular talents, especially those less visible, would be useful in a setting such as this. She’d only have to experience first-hand to understand how useful it could be. Her curiosity peaked as she strolled past a blackjack table with a tall, thin dealer with striking features. It only took observing one game to work out exactly what the dealer’s advantage was, and how to take her own advantage out of it. 

It wasn’t as if Charls needed any sort of big win. Her pay for the band’s residence and performance at Shaw’s Manor was nothing to shake a stick at, added to the band’s recent success in record sales and rising popularity, her income was steady and admirable. Even if she’d come to Vegas for simply pleasure, it wasn’t as if her and her sister’s inheritance as a backbone wouldn’t allow for a bit of frivolous spending. She had entered the casino floor looking for what she always looked for, much to the chagrin of her remaining family. To put it simply, Charls lived up to her recent tabloid reputation as the indie scene’s party girl, and as always she was out for fun and a good fuck.

The mid-twenties woman dealing cards at the blackjack table had initially seemed to be a man, and had it not been for her high cheekbones, slight hips and name tag reading _Erika_ , Charls would have assumed that the strikingly pretty yet androgynous figure hidden in a carefully fitted tuxedo was male. Every other female dealer wore considerably less, but it was this one’s difference that caught her eye. In order to demand to Shaw that she be allowed to wear what she like to do her job, she had to have some measure of power. After carefully watching her lithe fingers toss cards to the suited and inebriated patrons of the casino for a few minutes, and subsequently grumble away with less chips than they approached with, Charls had deciphered the pattern and gleaned what she could from the dealer’s surprisingly unyielding mind, and slipped into an emptied seat. 

Two equally inebriated tuxedoed men, one with a lacy white dressed woman giggling at his back and the other obviously the first’s Best Man, took place beside her. Charls payed them no mind and she slid a few short stacks of black chips into her circle from her clutch, and crossed one leg over the other, sitting back slightly. 

Erika raised one brow, ignoring the drunks to her left. “This _is_ a low minimum table, ma’am.”

“I’m aware. However, I don’t believe I’m over the limit, am I?” Charls responded, lacing her fingers in her lap. The dealer _knew_ she meant to be there. She could feel that much. However, she couldn’t seem to muss out why. Her thoughts were even more restrained, suddenly, as if she could feel Charls’ presence there. It was unlike anything the small brunette had felt before, and only made her more inclined to stay at the table. 

“No, I suppose not,” the dealer glanced at the other men, sloppily placing their own bets between bouts of laughter, until finally they seemed composed enough to be ready, “shall we begin?”

Charls couldn’t help but think the young woman’s fingers were captivating, her voice was just clipped and smooth enough to make her English sound not entirely native. Since she was unable to dig into the older woman’s mind to muss out any details, she figured she must be from somewhere else. Dealing mainly off of the little accent she could ascertain and the taller woman’s striking features and peachy complexion, she figured most likely somewhere in central or eastern Europe. Her striking nose and hazel eyes spoke of possible Ashkenazi descent, also the short honey brown hair darkened with product and slicked back, and strong jaw were very German. 

The first cards were played facedown, and one of the drunks was rebuked for trying to grab at his cards with both hands, which quieted the small group considerably. Charls smoothly checked her hand with only her right arm above the table, her left hand still holding her clutch in her lap, before lifting the cards and gently scraping at the felt once. A 3 of diamonds and an ace of spades were considerably small to start out with, and after two hits and the drunks’ inevitable bust, it was only Charls and Erika at the table. The two hits had left Charls at a favorable 20, and she knew because _Erika knew_ that the next card in the deck was high enough to force either of them to bust. Erika’s eyes narrowed when Charls slid her cards under her bet, not allowing any eye contact to be broken. Erika flipped her cards. 

“Twenty to eighteen. Congratulations ma’am.” Erika lowered her eyes and collected the cards, dealing out Charls’ winnings. When the slighter brunette slid the dealer’s tip across the table on a card, she scanned behind her quickly before snatching Charls’ wrist before it could retract. 

“I know who you are. You’re the singer for that new group Mr. Shaw brought in. I don’t appreciate cheaters at my table, besides, aren’t you a bit young to gambling?” Erika’s voice lost all of its false luster and half of its volume, avoiding the attention of any bouncers nearby. If she was caught touching a guest, no less a guest _performer_ she would have Shaw himself to answer to, but cheating was one of the things that forced her to take chances. “I don’t _like_ people in my head.”

Charls leaned forward on the table, inclined towards the taller woman’s grasp, noticing the brief attention the swell of her breasts in their plunging neckline got on the way. “You’re one to complain about cheating.” She stated with a chuckle, “What do they do to your cards, anyway? Do they have different metals in the paint? Quite a bit of effort to play to the talents of a low-limit blackjack dealer, _Erika_.” She didn’t try to pull her wrist away just yet. 

The dealer let the younger girl’s wrist go with a splay of her long fingers. “Erik, if you will. You ought to make yourself scarce, miss, because if I see you on the floor again I won’t be as easy to influence as the goons.” She locked her eyes with the big blue ones across from her and to prove her seriousness let a wave of raw emotion punctuate her point. She collected her tip with a scowl as the young telepath stood, brushing imaginary dust from the front of her dress. 

“Your restraint is admirable.” She looked up again through her lashes at the taller woman. “You’ll notice with your tip I’ve included a key to my personal suite. Feel free to drop by if you get a chance. I know your shift is over within the hour,” She shrugged and turned on her Louboutin clad foot before tossing a parting remark over one bare shoulder, “I don’t care for false excuses. You can come or not.” She gave a parting wink before all Erik could see of her was the trail of her dress, the sway of her ass and glinting from underneath it all red soled stilettos that Erik couldn’t imagine wearing for any length of time, let alone on thick casino carpets without taking at least one spill.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really into this little plot lately. I'll post my beta's username once she gets one. So for now, thank's Zo.

Chapter 2

 

Erik’s heart was in her throat as she hastily cleaned up her work area, setting her ‘special’ cards in their shuffler into the lockbox under the table and putting up the small triangular CLOSED sign on top of the felt. She technically had 23 minutes left on her shift, but had a strong urge to find Emma _now._  

 She finally located the blond beauty, showing group off suits out of the cabaret. Once she finally got them headed in the direction of wherever she was told to influence them to go, she turned around, arms akimbo upon the waist of her pristine empire-waisted white mini-dress, with a look on her face that obviously meant ‘thank _gods_ they’re gone’.

 “Erik, you shouldn’t be off yet. Don’t let Az see you away from your table.” Emma’s arms went from her hips to crossed across her fairly exposed breast. She wasn’t going to tattle on her friends, but nagging comes with managerial positions. “You okay? You look kind of pale-er. Did one of the drunks try to figure out if you had boobs manually again at the low-limit table?”

 “Worse.” Erik motioned Emma to follow her past the drapes into the now empty burlesque room, and leant back against the railing that was meant to house the line for the cabaret. It was quiet enough in there for her to wonder if the blond telepath had put on the show entirely in the suit’s heads without any girls involved, after all it was well within her capability, and a neat trick if she wanted to play to each individual’s particular fancies. She handed over the key card she’d been clutching, which she had just enough time to inspect to determine that besides the customary Shaw logo it also had a neat set of number scrawled in sharpie across the front. 

 “A customer invited you to their room? I mean, I get it’s inappropriate Erik, but you know these guys guzzle so many cheap ass drinks when they spend time here, and it’s not like it hasn’t happened before, I mean just give it back to the desk like normal…”

 “Worse.” she repeated with more emphasis, punctuating it with a pointed look. “It’s not some random drunk dude, it’s Charlotte _bloody_ Xavier.” Erika laid the fake Brit accent thick in an effort to mock her current stressor, and maybe relieve a bit of that stress. 

 “She’s the head for that new band that the boss brought in, isn't she? She seems cute.” Emma shrugged, “Why don’t you pay her a visit?” The blond took up a spot next to her friend perching one white-wedged foot on the lower section of the railing. “Much better than a drunk guy, anyway. Maybe a good romp will loosen up some of that tension.” Emma bumped Erik lightly with her elbow, arms still crossed. It had been a while since she saw the young metalkenetic with anything but a stern scowl or her professional pokerface. 

 Erik sighed heavily and stuck her hands deep into her jacket pockets, “I mean, she is pretty…”

 “You do have that thing for dark haired women.” Emma waggled her eyebrows at her playfully.

 “Let’s not bring Magda into this, please.” Erik drug her hands out of her pockets and down her face. “She may be beautiful, but you’re not oblivious Emma. You’ve seen the tabloids, you know she has a reputation. And that reputation is generally _Maneater,_ I didn’t even think well…I didn’t think we played for the same team. Not to mention she’s using her powers to influence the rules of this place for her own amusement. She’s what, 20? She shouldn’t even be on the floor, let alone at my table. She was playing with the minds of the bouncers for kicks. It’s revolting.”

 “Hey, I was a 20 year old telepath once. And let me tell you Sugar, you could’ve accused me of _way_ worse than tinkering with a few goons to play blackjack. And I had half the power she does. Don’t ask me why but even back when Shaw first met with those guys it was a struggle just to keep her out of her heads, and I have a decade on her. She’s a pretty powerful little telepathic teabag, youth and indecency be damned.” Emma put a hand on Erik’s arm in an effort to comfort. “Anyway, you can’t really trust those tabloids anyway when it comes to girl-on-girl romance, I mean you’ve got headlines upon headlines on what stud is screwing around with what hollywood harlot, but when a sneaky little photographer snaps a picture of Kirsten Stewart snuggled up against another woman in a bikini it’s all about who her new “beach bud” is,  absolutely wholesome, no homo, shit. It couldn’t hurt to go up and talk. Just because she slipped you a room key doesn’t mean you have to fuck her. Maybe get to know her better? I haven’t seen you so actively interested in _anybody_ in years.”

 “I suppose…” Erik checked her watch. They’d been talking longer than she’d thought, and it seems she lost track of time searching for Emma. “Could you take my coat back to the dressing room for me? It needs to be pressed before my next shift and I don’t want to waste any more time if I’m actually going to go all the way up there.”

 Emma nodded and handed the key back to her friend after she was finished shrugging the jacket off her shoulders and loosening her tie to fold up into the pocket, trading one for the other. She fixed a loosed tendril of carefully styled blond hair back into it’s clip before throwing the jacket over her shoulder to fuss with the younger woman’s shirt buttons. “Untuck that, and unbutton a few up here and….there. Now you don’t look like such a tight ass. Almost like you’re a new person.” She maternally licked her thumb to smooth out one of Erik’s eyebrows, and was met with a groan. “Well if you didn’t furrow them so much and maybe trimmed them once in a while they wouldn’t need fixing, Sugar. Don’t look at me like that, just go and try not to give yourself worry lines on the way. You’re 25 years too young for wrinkles.” 

“I’d call you mother, but you’d probably like it.” Erik said, earning a light kick on her way out. 

 

 She quickly made her way across the floor, avoiding Azazel despite her having had plenty of time to be off and on her way already. After using the keycard to call and enter the VIP guest elevator for the top floors, she flipped it nervously in her fingers and tried not to look down as the tiny glass room shot up, exposing a frankly spectacular view of all the neon the strip had to offer. When she finally reached the floor, one that even in all the years she’d worked there she’d never been to, the signs pointed her down all the way to the end of one hallway. All of these suite floors only had a handful of rooms, and considering Shaw’s style and how much he wanted this group to accept his offer, he probably gave the band the floor to set up base for the extent of their contract here. It’s not as if he couldn’t afford it, the top 15 or so floors below the penthouse if Erik remembered correctly were all VIP suites, and who knew how much these Las Vegas sky suites went for when people with money to throw away and esquire tastes came to the Sin City for a weekend.

 Once Erik reached the end of the hall, her first impression was that the doors were surprisingly thin for as expensive as they seemed. She had a key but years of etiquette and the nature of what she was hearing made her hesitate from simply unlocking the door and entering. 

 It seemed that in her absence the notorious Ms. Xavier had found a suitor to fill her stead, regardless of having extended an invitation less than an hour ago. What sounded like a very _feminine_ and very _loud_ suitor at that. While quelling Erik’s still present doubts at the orientation of the woman who slipped her the key in the first place, you couldn’t deny it was pretty damn rude. She really should just toss the thing out in the nearest bin, and walk away—sneak out the back and head home to her studio apartment above the sketchy Chinese eatery and finally finish at least _one_ of the books cluttering her coffee table, and forget all about this whole Charlotte Xavier ordeal. But she couldn’t quite shake the idea that even though that’s what she knew she _should_ do, she was just _itching_ to get one back at the little dark haired hussy. So she knocked. Loudly. 

 The noise stopped, suddenly, and instead the sound of nervous giggles, rummaging and rustling fabric filled the silence. Erik was pretty sure she heard a distinct “I shouldn’t be here anyway…” slipped in somewhere, definitely more playful than the sentence warranted, and though she could hear the familiar British drawl of the telepath’s voice she couldn’t quite make out what was being said. After a few minutes of deliberating whether she’d done enough to ruin Charls’ night yet and should just tuck tail and leave, the door was opened by a long pale arm draped in Japanese patterned silk, and all Erik could see was the back of a head of mussed up chocolate curls before it whipped around with a curt, “We weren’t expecting you so quickl…”

 When Xavier finally realized who was at the door her sentence was stopped in its tracks, goofy grin fell and Erik didn’t think it was possible to see a telepath so shocked. It took her a moment to regain composure outside of her surprise, but she managed to fake it nicely. She leant up against the door frame, holding the barrier open just enough to let Erik glimpse at the figure dressing even quicker in the distance. 

 “Well you’re definitely not room service.”

 “I’m not? Were you expecting champagne? From he looks of it you and your _friend_ ,” Erik nodded at the girl who was trying to collect her purse from somewhere under the bed, “have had enough to drink. _You_ shouldn’t be drinking at all.” Her arms reaffirmed their standard crossed position.

 “I’m terribly sorry…” Charls laughed, her eyes went down and she shook her head slightly at the floor as her silk robe slipped further off one shoulder before looking back up at the significantly taller figure in the hallway. She bit her lip lightly, assumedly a long standing nervous habit, to quell her grin. “I just honestly didn’t expect you to actually come.” 

 “Regardless, I was invited. But that doesn’t seem to matter much to you, now does it?” The woman in Charls’ room seemed finally ready to properly flee and squeezed by and underneath the brunette’s arm, parting with another obnoxious giggle and a slight wave before departing down the hall, fixing the back of her dress as she went. Erik recognized her as the woman she had seen one of Charls’ bandmates hitting on rather poorly at the bar earlier that evening. She rolled her eyes visibly at the realization and looked back at Charls, who was now sporting a rather deserved, if not slightly flattering blush. 

 “Not a terrible waste, to be honest, that one.” Charls threw a pointed look in down the hall to emphasize what she was referring to. “A bit annoying really, I don’t really like loud girls. However, Sean will be glad to credit that it wasn’t entirely his poor pickup lines that were lost on her.”

 “From what I’ve read I didn’t think you liked women at all, loud or otherwise.”

 “So you really _do_ know who I am, don’t you?” Charls had a wicked glint in her eye as she matched Erik’s crossed arms, pushing her bosom up under the thin fabric. As she was still leaning on the door frame she opted to hold the door open with her foot instead, also bare and looking rather pale in contrast to the bright colors of the silk drape. 

 Erik was noticeably flustered by what she had let slip. She knew it would only feed the brunette’s substantial ego, and would absolutely not be forgotten. “You have quite the reputation…I suppose you live up to it in person then, it’s not all shite.” She stammered out, a blush dusting her cheeks. What was meant to be a routine cock-block as a bit of backhanded retaliation for the younger woman’s excessive rudeness was quickly blowing up in Erik’s face. All she could do was try to defend her pride. “It is rather difficult to avoid tabloids when one frequents supermarkets. You tend to be catching eyes on _all_ of them.”

 “You think I'm eye catching, then, do you?” Charls grinned. When Erik’s brush deepened and began to figure it was a good time to shut up, Charls decided to lightly push at Erik’s formidable mental barriers with a quirked brow, a wordless question, ‘ _Wanna come inside?’_ Erik took a step closer, her long stride put them nearly nose to nose, even though Charls’ was a good head below her’s. 

 “I told you once, I don’t _like_ people in my head.” She scanned Charls’ silk draped figure once, up and down. “Besides,” she said, in a near snarl, “I don’t _like_ sloppy seconds.” Punctuating with a smirk, she turned on her heel and headed off down the hallway where she thought she ought not to have come down in the first place. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot get this fic out of my head, if I don't keep writing I don't know what I'm gonna do. It doesn't help that my SO who is beta-ing for me is now invested and hounding me with ideas and theories, pretty soon I'm gonna have to credit them as a co-author. Enjoy guys! (And I sincerely apologize to those out there _still_ waiting for a RWaWL update, I'm getting on it!)~ Once again, thanks Zo, and get your freaking username already.

Chapter 3

 Raven’s footsteps, even padded by the carpet, always sounded like they had a purpose. Even if that purpose was just checking in on her sister after dropping Hank off in their suite, a bit blurry from a few beers but nevertheless no worse for wear. She was rolling her sore shoulder in one hand and clutching a large, oddly Eiffel-Tower shaped plastic novelty cup full of icy red liquid in the other. “Note to self, do not carry a heavy backpack when you decide to walk two-miles down a strip...” She muttered to herself, pulling a keycard out of the pocket of her jeans. She figured it was quiet enough to be safe to enter without knocking, and generally if Charls did have a suitor, it was only special exceptions that were kept past one. Seeing as Raven and Hank had hung around the Bellagio to watch the last fountain show at midnight, made out a bit since the ambiance was right, and then had to wade slowly through crowds of tourists down the strip to get back to the hotel, Charls might even be asleep if she was lucky.

 The first thing Raven noticed was a low crooning of Billie Holiday. That was usually number one on the ‘not good’ list. The fact that it was obviously coming from Charls’ dinky phone speaker and not the ones conveniently installed throughout the hotel room for you to plug your own media into was more a testament to Raven not showing Charls how to work it yet, seeing as how a one year age gap still managed to leave Charls with the technological skills of an old crone. This was more a blessing in disguise, because it at least kept her sister from keeping everybody else on the floor up all night. Raven could practically smell the gin, however, so she might be up all night fixing whatever had mucked up her sister’s mood. Charls was draped across the unmade bed, legs criss-crossed under her robe and arms strewn over her eyes. It was time to put on her game face.

 Raven hit the switch, lighting up the room in more than just the uncovered wall-to-wall window’s glare of distant neon. She set the awkward Eiffel tower on the dresser, causing a rather loud ca-thunk to sound from it’s empty insides. “You still haven’t unpacked, your dress is on the floor, I don’t even _know_ where one of your shoes went, and you’ve already found something to mope about? C’mon Charlie I thought you wanted to come here.”

 “First off, don’t call me that.” Charls removed her arm from it’s place obscuring her vision and decided to plop it above her head instead. “And second, what one earth is that?” She pointed a finger at the plastic obscenity currently dripping dew on her dresser.

 “Chill out, you tight ass.” Raven kicked off her boots and plopped down on the bed perpendicular to her sister so their heads almost touched, denim clad legs hanging over the edge and kicking slightly. Charls swore her legs never stayed still. “It’s a virgin strawberry daquiri. Basically a really _really_ expensive slushie in a stupid cup. Hank bought it for me.”

 “No wonder your mouth is red and your breath smells of high fructose corn syrup.” Raven laughed at that, and Charls playfully pushed her face away with one of the hands above her head. “You’re gonna give me diabetes just from breathing on me, quit it.” Raven always knew how to milk a smile out of her sister even in the most dire of circumstances.

 “You’re one to judge me based on the alcohol level of my drinks.” She turned on her side and leaned against one elbow so she was looking down on her sister’s face when she rolled her eyes. Charls was lucky she’d pulled her mass of blonde hair back into a bun, or she’d be choking on it instead of just making disrespectful facial gestures. “Shouldn’t you be ordering frilly virgin drinks, too? We are in the states Charls, as much as your accent likes to deny, and you’re only twenty. You can’t be going around ordering G&Ts and asking for trouble.”

 “Twenty is plenty responsible enough to have a couple of crappy casino drinks. You know they welch on the actual alcohol anyway, and _I_ stayed in the hotel.” She shrugged, not keen on her baby sister bossing her around.

 “So what’s got your knickers in a twist? I know you didn’t get carded.”

 “Did you know that the entire staff of this place are mutants like us?” Charls was avoiding the question, but she knew this would at least buy her a little time before Raven started really hounding her.

“Really? That’s weird...I mean it makes _sense_ , but it’s weird.” She tilted her head and toyed with one of her sister’s messy curls that was threatening to turn into a nasty knot if left untended. “That can’t be what you’re upset about though. It’s something to think about, sure, but you _love_ meeting new mutants.”

 “Well there was this one particular person I certainly did love meeting.” Charls eyes dashed to the side, even though her tone was meant to be mocking.

 “That didn’t sound like your usually committed sarcasm.” Charls glanced back at her sister. “Now you gotta spill. I called your bluff.” Raven only met her eyes for a moment before shifting so she could devote both hands to really getting that knot out without actually hurting her sister. ‘What’s his name?”

 “ _Her_ name’s Erik.” Raven made eye contact intentionally with that one and accidentally tugged a bit on the clump of hair she was working on, earning an OW and a few muttered expletives.

 “Sorry. You just don’t usually get so hung up over women rejecting you, you always tend to just take it in stride.” She finally got the knot out and motioned for her Charles to sit up with her so she could braid her hair back, reducing the likelihood of further near-dreadlocks. Even though Raven could shift her hair to any length for Charls to practice on when they were kids, and Charls always preferring shorter bobs and hairstyles, Raven was always better at braids then Charls ever could be.

 “You haven’t seen her yet.” Charls sighed, wincing a bit as her sister started tugging the shorter parts of her hair into a tight french braid against her skull. “She’s so...graceful, I guess, would come to mind. Especially when she’s dealing.”

 Raven tugged on a tendril of her sister’s hair. “Dealing _what_?”

 “Ow, _blackjack_ , you nutter, have you forgotten where we are? Christ...” Charls smacked her sister on the leg.

 “Sorry. Continue.” Raven’s hackles lowered and she went back to her task.

 “I mean, it’s not just her hands. You couldn’t have felt it, what she does with her powers, it’s so intricate. She’s a Ferrokinetic. Delicate is not something you’d usually apply to metal, but her senses, I’ve never felt anything like them. Plus, she’s the first person I’ve ever met besides other telepaths who _knows_ when I’m anywhere near her mind. There’s so much control. I’d love to see her beyond just cheating for the house at blackjack, but that’s not likely to happen now.”

 “What do you mean, it’s not likely? If she’s not into women you can always just try to be her friend...” Raven didn’t quite understand all of what her sister was getting at, but she was used to Charls’ poor communication skills enough that she could get the gist.

 “Oh no, she’s interested in women. And in me, I’m pretty sure, from what I could glean..”

 “And who wouldn’t be.” Raven interrupted, trying to be supportive in that familiar girl-talkish way she knew would only annoy Charls more than actually support. She had to have at least a little fun, she thought as she held the end of the finished braid in one hand and used her teeth to pry off a hair elastic from her wrist to tie it all up.

 “Oh shut up, you know flattery will get you nowhere.” Charls twisted around, fingering the tight pleat in her hair that Raven carefully constructed now that it was finished. There was something comforting about feeling a braid in her fingers that came straight from her childhood, because it was Raven’s default to mess with her hair whenever she felt that Charls was stressed. “Anyway I messed it all up. I had had a few drinks and I invited her up to the room, and you know I didn’t expect she would actually _come_.”

 “Well, that’s a good thing, right? It means she was interested?” Raven had pulled her hair down from the bun and decided to braid it over her shoulder as well, just to keep her hands busy.

 “It _would_ have been,” Charls released the hair she’d been worrying and decided to let her hand support her head at the temple instead as she leaned it on her crossed knee, “if I hadn’t hooked up with a random girl in the elevator on the way up, and brought her back here.”

 “ _Charlotte_.” Raven scowled at her sister. “I swear sometimes...for somebody so smart you can be really fucking dumb sometimes.”

 “I _know_ that I’m a massive dick sometimes. You’re really not helping,” she scowled. “Anyways, she was nearly equally dickish and decided to interrupt just to embarrass me, I’m quite sure. Not that I didn’t particularly deserve it but... “

 Raven sighed as she secured her own braid and tossed it back over her shoulder before lifting up her sister’s chin. “If you really like her, you’re going to have to just apologize.”

 Charls groaned and leaned down over her legs, reminding Raven of the gymnastics lessons they took as kids and the ‘butterfly’ stretch they made them do. Her face was muffled by the bedding enough that Raven had to lift her flushed face back up and ask her to repeat herself.

 “You’re right.” She sighed. “But if she sees me on the floor again, all I’m going to do is piss her off more.”

 “Maybe you should ask somebody older to go invite her somewhere that you can legally go? I bet Hank would do it.” Raven shrugged.

  Charls stared back at her skeptically. “Isn’t that a bit, I don’t know, _high school_? And anyway you know as well as I do that Hank isn’t exactly an optimal messenger candidate.”

 “Okay, so maybe not Hank then.” Raven nodded, agreeing without verbally admitting her boyfriend’s incompetence when it came to specific instructions and strangers and talking, especially all at the same time.

 “I’ll talk to Logan about it in the morning. He seems to spend most of his time at the penny slots anyway, it won’t be too out of his way for him to deliver a message.”

 “Proud of you. Actually acting like an adult for once.” Raven bonked her sister on the elbow before getting up and collecting her boots. “I’ve gotta get back to my room before my boyfriend falls asleep. He promised we’d watch _Game of Thrones_ but at the rate I left him, he might be dozing off already.”

 “I’m going to remember this for every time you call me a nerd when I talk about my genetics classes.” Charls got up to hand her sister the stupid novelty cup and hug her goodnight.

 “Pshh...yeah right. Geek culture is totally mainstream right now. You don’t see people dressing up as double helixes for Halloween.” With a parting laugh, genuine on Raven’s part and sarcastic on Charls’, they bade each other goodnight so Charls could debate how to best handle the issue at hand for the next day.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the beta, Zo.

Chapter 4

 

 Erik sighed as she walked back down that wretched hallway holding another damn key. 

 

 The rich part was that she wasn’t even supposed to work today, which was why she was thankfully not in her uniform. Earlier that afternoon she had come to the casino to bring Emma a late lunch, (but mostly because she had nothing better to do on her days off,) and was cornered by a man who looked unnervingly like a human version of her huge mutt of a tomcat. He identified himself as a friend of Charls Xavier, to which Erik very politely requested that he “fuck off.” The man simply laughed it off though, and when he asked if the one with the tongue on her was Erik, Emma, _the traitor,_ nodded enthusiastically. At the confirmation, she was handed a key, a sticky note with a time, and a clap on the back before the hulking lug walked back away, still laughing, hands in his pockets as he went to go find another slot machine closer to the table dancers. 

“Emma, you know what happened last time. If you seriously think I’m going up there…”

 

 “ _Do it_.”

 

 “If you seriously believe that I’m going to _seek out_ interaction with that…”

 

 “ _Do it._ Which one of us is the telepath here, Sugar? Besides, I’ve never led you wrong before. You’ll thank me eventually, I think. I’ve been watching your ass since you came to this goddamn town, and if you don’t get it up there I’m gonna kick it.” If she didn’t think that Emma was going to skin her if she didn’t go see what the girl wanted, she would have never gone. 

 And that is how Erik Lehnsherr once again found herself headed towards Charlotte Xavier’s suite, muttering about how Emma Frost was a telepath not a fucking fortune cookie. When she finally got to the end of the hall, she found that she didn’t even need the key because the door was propped open on the safety lock. With a deep breath she pushed it open to find the back of a very familiar silk robe, however now it was hanging off of Charls’ shoulders and down her back far enough to reveal that she actually was wearing something under it this time. It looked like she was toying with something at the counter, and she turned over her shoulder to greet Erik. 

 

 “Oh good, you came.”She grinned wide, showing a row of white teeth too perfect to have not had braces at some point. It was hard to imagine Charls as a teenager with braces, it was hard to imagine her as little else than the spoiled, beautiful, maddeningly seductive _and infuriating_ woman that Erik had met at her blackjack table. “You can shut the door, why don’t you take a seat in the lounge, I’m just trying to get the cork off of this, I’m horrible at it but I’ll only be a minute.”

 

 “I see you don’t have company this time. How good of you.” Erik crossed her arms, deliberately ignoring Charls second request and opting to stand in the middle of the room instead and flick the door shut with a wave of her hand as opposed to shutting it the normal way. She knew she was being a bit catty, but intimidating with her powers was a childish habit for uncomfortable situations that she had yet to break. It only made her more angry when the little display only seemed to make Charls happier. She finally pried the cork out of the bottle, albeit in a few pieces, and spun around with two stems of a wineglasses in one hand and a bottle of something dark and red in the other. 

 

 “That’s actually what I asked you here about. Please sit down?” Charls gestured with a tilt of her head at the couch off to the right of the room, opposite the counter space now littered with cork pieces. Erik could tell that she was trying very hard not to reign her own power back, keep her mind away from her guest’s. It was perplexing until Erik was distracted by the telepath’s quirked head, and her attention dropped lower to find that behind the silk drop she was wearing what seemed to be a simple tank with a lace trip and a pair of very soft looking, but _short_ printed cotton shorts. _How the hell does a person barely over five foot have legs like that?_ She must have been thinking loudly, because Charls tried to suppress a smirk and found a spot for herself at the far end of the sofa, tucking those deceptively long legs underneath herself. 

 

 “What exactly would you like to say about that?” Erik’s voice still had a bite, mostly compensatory as she sat down as far as possible from the little brunette. She laid the glasses on the table with a soft ‘klink’ and filled each one only a bit too generously before handing one over to Erik. 

 

 “This vintage was recommended to me by an old… _friend_ of mine. I’ve been fond of it ever since, even though I’m more of a white wine girl myself.” Charls shrugged her shoulders and looked down to pick at the hem of her shorts, ( _elephants,_ Erik thought, getting a closer look at the white-on-black pattern, _sort of cute I guess,)_ before taking gulp of wine. For someone who could read minds, her own was rather transparent when she was embarrassed, Erik presumed. 

 

 “If you invited me here to tell me about more people you’ve fucked, I shouldn’t have come in the first place.” Erik took a small sip of her own. She knew she was being a tad cruel, but not only was she frustrated with Emma, she was still irked about Charls’ antics the first time she came up to this floor. 

 

 “No, _actually_ I was intending to apologize, but you don’t seem to care now do you?” Charls was quickly tiring of her guest’s attitude, and her remorse was slowly slipping away the more Erik lashed out. 

 

 “Well, that’s no way to say you’re sorry, now is it?” Erik smirked, setting down her glass so she could assume a more defensive position. 

 

 “It’s sort of hard to apologize to someone who doesn’t even want to be here, let alone listen to a thing you have to say.” Charles set her glass down too, afraid her hands might shake as they’re like to do when she gets angry. She crossed her arms in a mimic of Erik’s default pose, just in case. She didn’t want to show any weakness, despite the fact that the taller woman’s attempt at intimidation was making her face flush more than the wine.

 

 “And what were you going to say, exactly? _‘Oh Erik, I’m so sorry I tried to get you to have a one night stand with me only to have rudely found someone else on my way up to my room, oops. Won’t happen again, here have some wine.”_ Erik’s falsetto tone and mockery of a British accent was a bit hilarious, but Charls was mad enough not to laugh. She stood up with her hands on her hips. 

 

 “What if it was? An apology is an apology, and I don’t even think you _want_ one, you just came up here to make fun of me, and _who_ said I was trying to get you up here to have sex with you, you cant just assume that…” Charles was knocked back against the wall beside the couch fast enough that she hadn’t even seen Erik move. It took a moment to process what had just happened. She wasn't pushed so much as led very, very quickly. She didn’t even think Erik had touched her, but one of the taller woman’s arms was supporting her body against the wall, with a hand splayed beside Charls’ face. Her considerable height was crooned over the short brunette leaning back, trapped between Erik and the room’s barriers, and they were only inches apart. Charls could almost swear she could feel vibration, as if the metal in the room was practically trembling with Erik’s raw emotion. 

 

 “So you _didn’t_ invite me back to your room, in the middle of the night after just meeting me, to have a romp? Is that why you were _fucking_ another stranger in the other room when I got here?” Erik’s voice had all the luster of a professional blackjack dealer, it was the kind of voice that seduced hundreds to sacrifice their money ritualistically on a regular basis. It was the kind of voice that Charls dreamed about, the kind of voice that haunted her in her head. 

 

 “Well…” Charls tried to pull as much allure out of her voice as she could. “Not to say I wasn’t interested I mean…” She looked up through her lashes before tilting her head back to expose her throat. “Not that I’m _not_ interested.” Even she knew that it was weak, especially from her. It’s just that she had never seen a collarbone that delectable, and something about Erik made her heartbeat resonate through her bones with fury, but at the same time her knees were weak, and warmth spread through her like a shot of iodine contrast, traveling through her veins to heat every extremity that blood could fill. Her cheeks burned and her hands shook, but she’d be lying if it was only anger that caused it. 

 

 Erik got closer, allowing herself one last slow look at Charls Xavier. Her hands shook slightly at her sides, clenched into handfuls of silk, bringing to Erik’s mind immediately what they might look like in the hotel’s expensive sheets instead of her most likely equally expensive and abused robe. Her chest rose and fell noticeably with every angry breath, and Erik had to pause to postulate if it was the wine, or if lips could _really_ be that red. She took a breath and held it, trying to rock herself off of this dangerous track. She had to get herself out _now,_ before she made a mistake. 

 

 “By the way, it looks like your _friend_ had an equally bad taste in wine as he did in women.” Erik spat, before pushing off the wall and booking it back down the hallway. When she was finally in the elevator she allowed herself to lean against the cool glass and clutch her her hair, tugging a bit to ground herself. She knew she shouldn’t get that angry, but it wasn’t just rage that she felt. Maybe a real drink was in order. 

 

 Fifty floors above the rapid descent of Erik Lehnsherr, Charls slumped a bit on the wall, catching her breath. “Bloody _fucking_ hell.” She muttered, grabbing her glass to down the rest of the wine in it in quick succession. The only thing left to do, was write. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really don't want to make this into a song fic, so in coming chapters I'll be including the songs that are on my mind for the band in either links or titles in the end notes. I might get around to making a playlist somewhere as well. I've been getting a lot on inspiration from rediscovering F+TM, so I have a few incorporations I have planned there, but I plan on pulling from a few bands that I feel Charls' _Genomes_ would have a similar sound to.
> 
> Just for funsies, if you want to know what was stuck in my head while writing this, it was _Drumming Song_ by Florence + The Machine.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter that was the first part of what's turning out to be a very _long_ chapter, so I'm posting it to tide you guys over until I finish Chapter 6. Also, note that the rating is changing from this chapter on.

Chapter 5

 

“I really don’t see why you’re making me do this, Emma.” Erik groaned. She’d been drug out of bed on a Saturday morning with an eight hour shift waiting for her that night. She _knew_ she couldn’t let Emma spend the night in her apartment without the blond cooking up some sort of plan to ‘do the right thing by you, Sugar’, A.K.A.- make Erik miserable and deprive her of sleep. 

 

“It’s not my fault you called me at midnight to come over and listen to you rant, _for the third day in a row_.” Emma looked gorgeous even in last night’s house clothes. She’d complained all morning about how Erik’s hairbrush was going to make her head all frizzy, and she really should invest in a wide toothed comb because it’s better for your hair anyway, on and on, while Erik’s cat tried to invade her coffee cup as she dozed at the table. 

 

“It is your fault, however, that after my ranting you made me drink spiked hot cocoa, and _then_ made me sleep on the couch after watching several episodes of some stupid sitcom because it would, and I quote, ‘make me feel better’.” Erik rubbed her forehead idly, praying that a headache wouldn’t come on. She’d woken up strangely devoid of a hangover and simply very tired, and silently thanked her German heritage for leaving her with a surprising tolerance, especially pertaining to Emma’s favorite peppermint schnapps. The schnapps part might actually just be thanks to Emma, not the genes. 

 

“Trust me, you’re going to want to see this, Sugar.” Emma cocked a hip, arms akimbo. “You’ve been listening to her in your free time, don’t you wanna see her in person?”

 

Erik blushed. “Don’t look at me like that. And I know you didn’t get that out of my head or from your _tremendous_ intuition, you went through my browser history when you stole my laptop to look up hot chocolate recipes last night, you little bottle blonde snake.”

 

“Darling, a best friend’s dire circumstances require dire measures.” Emma hooked her arm in Erik’s, trying to cloy her way back into her good graces. 

 

“You’re not getting off easy just for being cute, Emma.” Erik groaned as she was drug into the back door of one of the casino’s smaller clubs that offshoot the main gambling hall. Like everything in Las Vegas, it had a cheesy theme, but this was one of Erik’s favorites. It was styled like a vintage jazz club, the sort of _Chicago_ deal with a red draped stage and lots of shadowy hightop tables surrounding a chic bar. Everything was dark, save for the stage, where the _Genomes_ had been rehearsing for what looked like a while. 

 

Charls was midway through a short, catchy ballad about what seemed to be some sort of domestic abuse, which was surprisingly jaunty for its material. The brunette was lost, eyes shut, and Erik couldn’t help but find the way she almost danced behind her mic on stage. She had an amazing effect simply in her complete lack of stage presence. Everything that Charls was was conveyed through her voice, not her body language. Every ounce of seduction was in the siren song she contained inside, to the outside eye she looked almost awkward in her absorption to the song itself. Erik made a mental note to watch some of her live performance recorded by an audience to see if she let herself show this way in front of a crowd, or it was just when rehearsing or recording in front of her family and friends that she became what Erik saw now. The being that first approached Erik at the blackjack table was not visually the girl bouncing to the tempo in her ankle boots fifty feet away, but she could hear her in the song itself. Erik had a feeling that this might actually be too personal for her to see, especially without Charls’ permission. 

 

This feeling wouldn’t last for long however, because once the song ended and Charls’ attention expanded beyond her current task, her eyes opened immediately and Erik could _feel_ that she was aware of her presence. She stared back into the darkness beyond where she could reasonably see, given the darkness of the area that the hightop Emma and Erik had settled in and the glare of the lights directed at the stage, but it was obvious that she was looking directly at her. She turned to say something the mic couldn’t pick up to her band mates, and the blond on the bass with the messy bun nodded enthusiastically. When she turned back around and spoke, her eyes bore into the person who she could not see. 

 

“This last one’s rather new, so mind the rough edges.” Charls’ speaking voice was very divergent from her singing voice, and Erik wondered if it was the fact that her accent didn’t translate as thickly into her music. This time, however, when she began to sing, it wasn’t to herself. This song _was_ new, so new in fact, it was very _very_ obviously about Erik. The lyric were raw, carnal in their poetic meaning, and the image that they painted ate into Erik’s soul. She no longer felt like a trespasser, she felt as if all of this was _on purpose._ She was meant to be the first to hear this, and in a slip of cognitive restraint, Erik not only heard it but _felt_ it. Every inch of Charls’ frustration, anger, and desire was thick in the air, and Erik couldn’t have pushed her out of her head even if she’d wanted to. 

 

Emma was lucky enough to be able to block it out, but then again she had a fair amount of brain will power of her own, and if she hadn’t noticed her friend’s total rapture she would have filed her nails and said ‘ _I told you so.’_ Once the song had ended and Charls’ mic stand hit the stage with a thunk, she exited left immediately as the rest of her friends grouped up to discuss the rehearsal and plan the rest of their morning. The drummer looked about ready to fall asleep on his feet, and leaned heavily on the guitarist who was trying to bat the redhead away. When the blond looked over to mention something to Erik, she swore that the girl had to be gripping the table hard enough that if it were metal instead of wood, it would most likely have taken damage already. 

 

“You got the full force of that one, didn’t you Sugar? Ah, to be young.” She sighed, even though she only had ten or so years on Charls, (Erik was really too afraid to ask Emma how old she actually was.) “You see what I mean about the power though now,” She whistled lightly, “If I’d had that much mental spunk at that age, well, I probably wouldn’t be here for one thing.” 

 

“What do I do?” Erik said lightly, as if they weren’t a solid ten yards away from any other living, hearing people, who weren’t even interested in them anyway. 

 

“Well, go after her, stupid.” Emma was examining her flawless french tips now, and considering whether or not she really _did_ have a nail file stashed away somewhere. “That’s probably what she wants you to do, anyway.” 

 

Erik shot up like she had needed permission, and dashed away towards the stage, thrusting her hands in her pockets. 

 

“I swear, _children_ , the lot of them.” Emma stood herself, considering whether she should go up to her own suite on the executive floor that she’d converted into a condo and run a bath. There were perks to being a casino owner’s personal assistant, even if the man himself was scum. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Erik walked into the band performing:  
>  _Kiss With A Fist_ by Florence + the Machine
> 
> The song about Erik:  
>  _Howl_ also by F+TM


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much just smut. Huge thanks to Magnetoisgay, (finally got a username) for betaing and helping me out with some of this chapter.

Chapter 6

 

Charls was half sitting on the edge of the vanity in the dressing room, and her entire body shook with the force of her violently bouncing her left foot. Her arms were crossed under her breasts and without the added support, she was sure she’d look rather silly. It was the first time she’d actually performed directly _to_ a person that she’d written about, because generally by the time that she got around to writing they were long gone. She wasn’t sure what to expect, and given that she couldn’t restrain her projection, her prognosis if Erik actually did come after her was very bleak. She’d said multiple times, after all, _she didn’t like anyone in her head._ It was really and truly unfair of her, seeing as how she hadn’t gotten out of _Charls’_ head since she first laid eyes on her. 

 

Five days didn’t seem like such a bad thing to Charls, least of all for a crush. Compared to primary school, five days was _nothing_ for a crush. But this, this was unlike any ‘crush’ Charls had experienced before. The best thing she could compare it to was when one of her mother’s fillings had come loose over a winter holiday when every dentist in Westchester was on vacation. Back then Charls was just beginning to come into her powers. It was impossible to stay out of _anyone’s_ head back then, and after about 72 hours of her mother’s constant moaning, which would put any child on edge, she was near her breaking point. She had not only been experiencing an echo of every discomfort her mother felt, but felt it herself, and the most distinctly the ubiquitous taste of metal. Her food, drink, even her own saliva tasted like she’d been gnawing on tin foil, and it was impossible to dismiss or ignore. Erik was a taste in her mouth, an itch on her back that she couldn’t scratch. She was all-encompassing, pervasive, and absolutely _impossible_ to ignore, whether she was present or not. 

 

When Erik finally arrived, it was the first time Charls had ever seen her not in a defensive position. She wasn’t exactly sure what her body language was saying exactly, her posture said playing off nervous, her poker face said fury, but there was a twinge of something Charls wasn’t really catching on to at first glance. After all the telepathic overflow she was trying very hard to keep it regained in. 

 

“Why do you take forever to get, like, _anywhere?”_ Charls’ foot was relentless. 

 

“Well, you can’t stay out of my head so I guess we’re even.” Erik’s voice didn’t sound angry for once, and it gave Charls just enough security to stop fidgeting. 

 

“You don’t _know_ how even we are…wait, you don’t sound mad?”

 

“Mad is not on my register of emotions at the moment, no.” Erik shut the door, hands behind her back in an attempt to restrain herself from doing anything hasty. 

 

“Wait…so what is?” Charls leant forward slightly 

“That was quite the performance.” Erik knew she was redirecting, holding the doorknob with one hand behind her back. Flattery seemed preferable to actually trying to explain what she was experiencing _due_ to Charls’ performance. 

 

“How long were you in there?” her foot resumed it’s bouncing, and one of her knee-length socks was quickly slipping down her shin now that it had finally lost traction.

 

Erik noticed the bouncing, and found her eyes tracing up Charls' thigh. She shook her head a bit, as though to shake free an errant thought or two. “Not long. I saw the end, obviously.”

 

“I thought you would be mad at me. I don’t really know what…I’ve never actually performed a song I’ve written about someone _to_ that person before.” She was attempting to ignore how quickly she was losing her sock, and thought that the choice to not wear garters under her shorts, as slutty as they tended to look, was a bad idea. She was too preoccupied to try to fix it, as much as she would have used it to her advantage in the past. Bending over did expose gracious amounts of cleavage, after all. Erik crossed her arms and looked away, back in defense mode.

 

“I'm not mad. I was rather...impressed,actually.” _And flattered_ , though she didn't dare say that out loud. She'd never been written about,not that she knew of anyway, and certainly had never seen a performance that passionate. It made her feel things she hadn't felt, well, ever.

 

“That’s a first between me and you.” Charls wondered just how she looked, her shrug was hanging off her elbows and her socks were of kilter, not to mention the blush she felt burning on her cheeks that only seemed to get hotter as time went by.

 

Erik felt her willpower beginning to dissolve slowly, and her arms began to relax. She wondered again, as she always did in Charls' presence, how someone's lips could possibly be that red. They were matched only by the blush growing on the brunette's face, which Erik knew resembled the one slowly creeping along her own cheeks. It wasn't entirely true that she'd never been impressed by Charls. She took a step forward, then another, until she was only a few feet away from the girl on the vanity. It was sheer stubbornness that stopped her from completely closing the gap.

 

Charls’ foot stopped, and she let her arms drop to hold onto the edges of the vanity table she was perched on. Her shrug completely slipped off of her shoulders and pooled on the floor, held up only by her wrists. 

 

“You never did answer my question, you know.” Charls tried to match the stubbornness on Erik’s face. 

 

Erik's heart was beating hard now, and she fought to control her breathing as her hands unconsciously clenched and unclenched. Then she found herself braced against the vanity, leaning over Charls without quite touching her. 

 

'You were in my head, wouldn't you know what was there?’

 

“I was projecting, not reading. It wasn’t intentional. If you don’t want to answer vocally though I could always…?” Charls looked up at Erik and lifted a hand towards her forehead and waggled her fingers there. She bit her lip unconsciously, eager for a response, permission, denial, anything really. 

 

The way she bit her lip was what really undid Erik. Before she could stop herself, she leaned into Charls and kissed her, hard. She brought one hand to the telepath's waist, and nipped at her bottom lip. Her mind raced, then blanked. She couldn't have spoken a word even if she'd wanted to.

 

Erik quickly learned that Charls bit back, and her arms quickly found their way over Erik’s shoulders and behind her neck to pull her down harder into the kiss. Her freshly un-socked log wound behind one of the taller woman’s thighs pulling her closer as she scooted a bit to find better purchase sitting on the vanity. “ _Fucking finally…_ ” Erik heard, in Charls’ voice though she had absolutely no time to open her mouth.

 

She was fully aware she'd lost control of the situation long before she'd followed Charls to this room. ‘ _You want to know how I feel?’_ She thought, as loudly (if that was the correct term,) as she could manage at Charls, both hands now gripping the girl's hips. She moved her attentions to her neck, purposely leaving a dark mark in plain view while trying not to bite her too terribly hard. _‘I fucking want you. Is that what you want to hear? You drive me absolutely fucking crazy.'_

 

Charls took the opportunity to use her leverage to flip Erik around so she was the one on the vanity, taking instead a position straddling her lap. She pulled the clip out of her hair and dropped in on the ground before slipping her hands under Erik's jacket. She decided to speak out loud this time, praying her voice wouldn't shake. 

 

"My thoughts exactly. God, you're so warm..." Erik's shirt was untucked, letting Charls get easy access at the heated skin of her slim hips, and allowing her to trace her nails up the ferrokenetic's waist.

 

Erik's head fell back for a moment,shocked both at the feeling of nails against her skin and at how cold Charls' hands were. Her breath was growing ragged, her hands moved on their own to slide over Charls' thighs and up across her stomach. She had such lovely thighs, and Erik had a sudden flash of what they would look like completely bare. Charls ran her teeth down the taller woman's neck, gasping slightly as she was pulled closer. 

 

"Do you think...this is private enough?" She pulled Erik's jacket off of one shoulder giving her more access to her collar bone, where she wanted to give her a matching mark.

 

“Probably not, especially if you…” her sentence cut off as she felt the familiar sensation of a hickey being left on her neck. It was all so reminiscent of adolescence—feelings as tightly wound and hard to restrain as a high school couples’ first lover’s tryst, only when added to experience it became something more. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and she shivered hard. Despite her efforts to be quiet, a light moan escaped her clenched teeth, and she bit her own lip this time, drawing a tiny bit of blood. Her hands moved to Charls' ass, pulling her forward even more. When Charls leant back to admire her work, she notices the bead of blood rising on Erik’s lip and tsked at her playfully. 

 

"Don't you dare..." Charls used her thumb to wipe away the blood beading on Erik's lip. "We ought to go somewhere else...even if we used the thumb lock, someone's bound to interrupt." She stuck her thumb in her mouth to clean it off, noting that the biting taste of metal was just a tad stronger than it ought to have been.

 

Erik nodded, and allowed the smaller girl to move off of the vanity before being tugged along behind her. Through the door, down a few hallways to avoid seeing anyone who might ask questions, and up the elevator to the all-too familiar room of Charls Xavier. It was confusingly both the longest and fastest journey she’d ever taken in this particular route. Impatient, Erik opened the door with a single fluid swipe of her hand, refusing to wait for Charls to fumble in the pockets of her shorts for a keycard. Once inside, Erik pressed Charls against the wall, pinning her arms above her head and pressing flush against her as she caught her lips again. Charls pressed as tightly against Erik as she could, relishing in how it felt to have her arms bound, but hating that she couldn't get any closer. 

 

"I really don't know why I kept giving you keys if you could just get in willy-nilly. It's really a security hazard, you know." Her sarcasm seemed to have come back with her confidence as she flexed upwards, trying to close distance between them despite their obvious incongruity in height. 

 

“Oh, so I'm a security hazard?” Erik raised an eyebrow and leaned back slightly as she dodged the shorter woman's kisses. Charls was flushed, and her lower lip stuck out in an obvious pout that made Erik smirk. She ran her hands down Charls' sides, coming to rest on her hips again. “Pouting won't get you anywhere, cute as you may be doing it.”

 

"It's not fair with you all the way up there." Charls stood on her toes, hardly making any difference between them. "Pouting is the only advantage I have.”

 

Erik curled her arms around Charls' waist and, making use of the muscles she'd gained through years of late-night sessions at the gym, lifted her clear off the floor. She smiled as she kissed the brunette, who was, surprisingly, even lighter than she looked. Charls laughed into the kiss, wrapping her legs around Erik's trim waist. ‘ _Much better’_ she thought, unwilling to break to speak out loud. It was a bit awkward to maneuver Erik's coat off of her shoulders and onto the floor on arm at a time, but worth it for the new warm skin exposed. She was wearing a soft, age worn cotton tee and it was strange to Charls to see her in anything but her customary white work button up.

 

Erik walked slowly towards Charls' bed, taking care not to drop the giggling girl. She laid the girl down and took a moment to process just how beautiful Charls was. She wished she had a camera for a split second, just so she could capture the look on her face. She took a mental picture instead as she was taking got her shoes and storing them neatly under the bed, and laid down next to Charls as she was toeing off her own booties. She rolled onto her side to face the other woman, propping her head up on her arm. 

 

"How come you're breathing so hard? I'm not that heavy." She teased.

 

Erik was tempted to reply with her usual sarcasm, but decided it was more appropriate to shut Charls up in another way. She pushed Charls onto her back and pinned her down, using her position to keep Charls still enough to leave more marks on her neck. She waited until she could hear the girl's breath getting heavier, then used one hand to trace along the skin of Charls' side, just underneath her top.

 

"Ah...I-I guess I'll just have to wear scarves for a while then..." Charls' wit was much less effective when she was breathless, and her clothing seemed all too restrictive, despite its leisurely nature.

 

Erik ignored her, and started lifting Charls' top off inch by inch. Her skin was like cream, silky smooth and so pale it was almost translucent. After Erik had taken removed her shirt entirely, she trailed kisses down from Charls' neck, across her chest, stopping at her stomach to come back the way she came. She ended with a much softer kiss than the rest, savoring the way Charls' mouth fit against hers. If she was being honest, she'd craved this moment since the first night they'd met. Charls' head fell back and her eyes fluttered shut, taking a deep breath through her nose and releasing it in a light sigh. She writhed in Erik's grasp as best she could, stretching into every slow kiss. Once she was at face level again, she used the only advantage she had with her arms pinned as the were and used her thigh to press upward, and when Erik gasped at the pressure she bit her lip, and let her eyes spell out every wicked intent.

 

Erik released Charls' arms and sat up to pull her shirt off slowly, watching Charls' expression as she did so. Suddenly, a wave of self-consciousness flooded her, and she looked away as she crossed her arms over her chest. Charls wouldn’t have that though, and sat up, leaning back on her hands with the taller woman over her, straddling her waist. 

 

"You're lovely. Can't I see more?" She said, tilting her head to appreciate Erik's trim frame, which she knew was simply silk draped over steel due to the strength that she exhibited and exuded. It was an odd thing to see such a timidness in a creature that was anything but tame. She wanted to spark her, flip her around and drag her teeth down that prominent sternum, taste her beating heart and relish in her heat.

 

For now, she would settle with prying her arms away, pressing them bare chest to bare chest, and lace her fingers with Erik's as she took one tender nipple between her teeth. It was ironic that Erik's flesh was unmarked by the metal she held such power over. Even more ironic that Charls herself bore titanium bars in her own nipples, and she wondered what Erik could do to them if she wanted.

 

Erik gasped softly, surprised by the sudden feeling of teeth. She was both surprised and yet unsurprised that Charls had pierced nipples. She thought about how dangerous that could be, how much it must have hurt, but she was also strangely fascinated by them. In her mental haze, she inadvertently caused the bars to move slightly, which caused Charls to let out the softest of moans. Erik tugged at her nipples with her mind, never too sharply, but enough to make Charls feel her moving them. She wondered if Charls was pierced elsewhere, and shivered at the thought. It was unlike any stimulation via the piercings Charls had experienced before, as she was used to them being tugged naturally by fingers or mouths, and it was nearly as intriguing as it was sensual. Charls groaned, trailing her teeth upwards, speaking softly against the taller woman's chest. 

 

"No other metal...yet. Not to say I haven't thought about it." Her hands were wandering now, at least the one that wasn't supporting her was. Her cold fingers gripped at the sharp hip bones and dared to dip her thumb below the waistband of Erik's jeans, testing the waters and looking up to gauge her reaction, not willing to break her mouth's coveted contact over Erik's rapidly beating pulse.

Erik's head dropped back for the briefest of moments, then she flipped the two of them over, placing herself under Charls. She ran her nails down the telepath's back from her shoulders to her lower back, then placed her hands on Charls' ass and squeezed slightly. She bit down on the younger woman's shoulder softly, and instinctually ground up into her. Charls took this as a cue to go forward, and unbuttoned Erik's jeans now that she had a free hand. Her hand slipped lower, and she braced herself with one hand gripping Erik's shoulder, digging her blunt nails in slightly as her grinding put the sweetest pressure exactly where she wanted it. She feared for a second that her fingers might actually be _too_ cold to be comfortable, but once she slipped under the waistband of Erik's underwear to find what she sought, the stutter of thought she perceived erased any notion that the temperature of her hands in any way mattered.

 

Erik bit her lip hard enough to draw blood again in an effort to keep quiet, her eyes closing of their own accord. It felt so good to be wanted, to be touched by someone else, and she reveled in the pleasure she felt at Charls' touch. She wanted more, but was unable to vocalize, and so projected her wanting as loudly as she could in the direction of the telepath. Charls rubbed slow circles over Erik's clit, and despite the mental effort decided to push her even further. She would keep teasing until she got a verbal response. 

 

"What do you want?" She said in mock innocence, leaning back and quirking an eyebrow at the near lost woman. At first, Erik didn't respond. She couldn't. But as the slow circles Charls was making slowed even further, Erik tried to speak. 

 

Her voice shook hard as she said, “I want you to...to fuck me, Charls.”

 

"Mm...not specific enough." Charls pouted again, leaning her hips towards where her arm was working, adding pressure. Despite her haze of arousal, Erik was beginning to feel frustrated. 

 

“What do you want to hear? That I want you to, to finger me and eat me out? That I want to feel your tongue, that I need your mouth?” 

 

"That's much better." Erik's blush spread even further when she was angry, and Charls couldn't help but think it was even more beautiful that way. She stopped her ministrations to pull away from Erik entirely and stand at the base of the bed to pull off her jeans and pants in one (shimmied) swoop, before exorcising what was left of her own clothing, which was basically just black denim cut off shorts and her (barely) still hanging on socks. She crawled back onto the bed, almost predatory, taking one of Erik's legs behind the knee to bend it forward and apart, trailing kisses and nips down the inside of her thigh.

 

Erik relaxed a bit, anticipation growing as Charls' lips made their way to where her fingers had been only moments before. She wasn't disappointed when Charls' tongue made its way to her clit, moving in slow, sweet circles. She gripped the sheets tightly, back arching up as she felt Charls slip one, then two fingers inside of her. Erik's control was beginning to break, and a stream of quiet German, broken occasionally by moans, escaped her lips. Erik's words, even when Charls didn't know what they meant went straight to her groin. It was so tempting to just reach down and touch herself, or even better, to reach into Erik's mind and feel what she felt. She couldn't tell if that was too far, too intimate.

 

Erik's hands wound into the brunette's hair as she drew closer to orgasm, and she noticed a wavering presence around the edges of her mind. She didn't care much at this point whether or not Charls chose to enter, she was too focused on Charls' mouth and how fucking good she was with her tongue. Erik could only hope that she could be half as good when the time came for her to reciprocate. Charls paused, speaking softly into Erik’s inner thigh. 

 

“I don’t know if you’ll even need to reciprocate, luv. Do you trust me?” She pleaded, revealing her intention by probing lightly at the taller woman’s mind. 

 

“I suppose if you’re already inside me anyway, what could it hurt?” Erik’s reply was breathy but genuine. She lifted her head to see Charls lift her free hand to her temple, in a gesture that looked almost like she was warding away a migraine, and met her eyes before she felt suddenly full, not only physically but mentally as well. It wasn’t uncomfortable, or invasive like she had always expected, she was simply _there,_ alongside her, and Charls’ sudden pants and the movement of her hips showed Erik that she was experiencing alongside her as well.

 

Back at her task, Erik could feel the slight shift in her movements. She could tell that the small brunette was feeding off of the new information, incorporating what she knew she liked and now what she knew about Erik’s own body. It was as if they had a steady flow of unbreakable communication, the essence of every _How to Have the Best Sex of Your Life!_ Cosmo article, only achievable and more than just words could convey. It was unlike anything Erik had experienced before with a first time lover. Charls stuttered occasionally, pausing more and more frequently to pant or gasp as she rocketed towards climax with her partner. She compensated by hooking her fingers slightly in a ‘come-hither’ motion, massaging Erik in the most sensitive bundle of nerves she had inside. 

 

It wasn’t long before Erik was coming, white behind her tightly shut eyes. It was the longest orgasm she could ever remember having, seemingly eternal before she was finally too sensitive and Charls immediately backed off, leaning her dewey forehead against Erik’s strong thigh, panting and attempting to catch her own breath as well. Once she could slow her breathing long enough to breath through her nose, she bit her lip and took her hand away from her forehead, choosing instead to massage the crease where Erik’s thigh met her groin, urging her to relax so she could pull her fingers out without hurting the oversensitive ferrokenetic. She kissed her lightly at her center, before crawling back up to lay beside Erik. She licked her fingers clean as if she’d just been eating a melted ice cream cone, never breaking eye contact with the dirty blonde. When she was done, her head fell back with a sigh and a breathy laugh, and she said something unintelligible before tossing an arm over her eyes. She leaned slightly against Erik’s side.

 

Before the afterglow could fully wear off, thoughts were already running rampant through Erik’s mind. She couldn’t, no, _wouldn’t,_ be another one of Charls’ seemingly abundant conquests. It wasn’t long before she thought herself into a corner, and looked over to get one more eyeful of Charls. She was radiant, if not a bit silly looking in post orgasmic bliss. Her arm was draped over her eyes, and her straight, white upper row of teeth were apparent in a lazy grin, the face of pure comfort and contentment that Erik had only ever seen in rare cases of formerly long familiar but long gone lovers. Her chest still rose and fell dramatically, but shuddered almost in silent laughter. She only allowed herself a moment to memorize her, and when she felt that that arm might move and Charls’ eyes could trap her there longer, she stood and collected her clothes as quickly as she could, not daring to look back. 

 

She heard the familiar rustle of bed linen, and could practically feel the warmth of that smile disappear and the eyes boring a hole into the back of her head as she dressed. It was murder to not turn around, but she couldn’t if she meant to really get away. 

 

“Where are you going?” Charls’ voice was so much quieter than it ever had been, at least to Erik’s ears. 

 

“I have to leave.” Erik’s eyes squeezed shut as she pulled her shirt over her head, scooping her jacket up in her arms. It wasn’t a lie, she had to keep telling herself. She didn’t say she _wanted_ to leave, after all. It wasn’t a lie. Before she knew it she was back in the hall, and this time the walk seemed so much longer to get to the elevator. Her shift was still hours away, but part of her feared if she left the building, she wouldn’t bring herself back to it in time to work. Another, more repressed part of her thought, if she left the building, she would be that much _farther_ from Charls, and that was almost harder to bear. 

 

 


End file.
